


Tonight And Tomorrow

by Lost_In_Time



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Napoleonic Era RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Circa Treaties of Tilsit, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_In_Time/pseuds/Lost_In_Time
Summary: The evening, with all its formalities and grandeur, passed horribly slowly. He was tired, although he knew he should have felt more triumphant. He did have a pleasant time, savoring his success, but the joy wasn’t pure. His mind was still wandering, remembering…
Relationships: Aleksander I Pavlovich | Alexander I of Russia/Napoléon I de France | Napoléon Bonaparte
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Tonight And Tomorrow

The carriage rattled along the streets of Tilsit. Napoleon stared blankly at the empty seat opposite him, thoughts swirling in his mind. Sighing, he brushed some dust off his uniform and leaned back. He closed his eyes, but didn’t sleep. 

A footman came to wake him when the carriage came to a halt before the grand building where he was staying. Napoleon opened his eyes, wordlessly waving the man aside, stepping down out of the carriage. A crowd had gathered, cheering him, and he offered a small smile and a gracious wave as he was ushered inside. 

The evening, with all its formalities and grandeur, passed horribly slowly. He was tired, although he knew he should have felt more triumphant. He did have a pleasant time, savoring his success, but the joy wasn’t pure. His mind was still wandering, remembering… 

-

Giving the soldiers outside his door strict instructions to not let anyone into his rooms, he quickly changed into more casual clothing and snuck out of the window. He smiled for a moment, reminded of his younger days when he would pull escapades like this frequently. He walked slowly through the shadowy garden, looking up at the silvery moon. Then he paused. There was someone else here too, their footsteps crunching on the gravel pathway. They also paused. 

Napoleon tried to disguise his voice when he spoke, but it was hard to mask the echo of his Corsican accent. “Good evening.” 

For a long moment there was no reply, as if the stranger was mulling over what to say. Finally, a voice with a Russian accent spoke. “Good evening.” 

Another pause. Napoleon grimaced. Couldn’t he even take a walk in peace? 

“Who do I have the honor of addressing?” The man spoke again. His voice sounded almost familiar. He seemed to be trying to disguise it too, and he stepped further back under the shade of a tree so the moonlight didn’t fall on his face. 

Now Napoleon was stuck. What did he say to that? “Philippe Arnot.” He thought quickly. “A soldier of the Emperor.” He could hear the other man’s smile when he replied. 

“Monsieur Arnot, how did you happen to come to this garden?” 

Napoleon blinked. “I must have lost my way, monsieur.” Just then the thin clouds overhead parted, and a shaft of bright moonlight illuminated the area around him. He cursed inwardly. All he had wanted was a quiet, anonymous walk. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too much hassle. 

“Napoleon!” The other man exclaimed in surprise, and his mask slipped. 

Napoleon’s heart jolted, in shock he told himself. “Alexander mon ami!” 

Alexander stepped out from beneath the shadows and into the moonlight. “Bonaparte.” He nodded politely, then caught himself. “Napoleon.” 

The two watched each other for a moment, neither one sure what to do or say. 

“Please, you are welcome to walk with me.” Napoleon spoke at last, and on impulse offered him his arm. 

Alexander took it gratefully. “Thank you, I would be honored.” 

The two walked in silence, looking at the silvery light sparkle in the water of a fountain. Napoleon stopped beside it. “It has been a long day, no?” The other man stood so close to him. Shaking his head slightly, he reminded himself that that was far from abnormal. What was wrong with him? 

“Yes.” Alexander shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring down into the water. “Would you like to return…?” 

“No,” Napoleon shook his head again. “It is very peaceful here.” 

Alexander nodded. He seemed suddenly tense, almost uncomfortable. Just as Napoleon began to worry, he cautiously slid his hand into Napoleon’s. He squeezed his eyes shut, half afraid to breathe. This could be the end of everything, a disaster on many levels. 

Napoleon didn’t know how he felt -- a million thoughts raced through his mind all at once. Then, heart pounding, he gently pressed Alexander’s hand. 

“Very peaceful.” Alexander’s voice threatened to crack. 

A smile flitted across Napoleon’s lips. Then he sighed. What did this all mean?

Alexander seemed to be wondering the same thing. Slowly he withdrew his hand, staring back down at the fountain. 

Napoleon felt a jolt of panic run through him. “Are you alright?” 

He nodded pensively, then shook his head indecisively. He drew in a long breath, held it for a moment, and released it. “I’m…” He frowned. 

“Afraid?” Napoleon offered. 

Alexander looked up at him. He said nothing, but his eyes showed his answer. 

One corner of Napoleon’s lips twitched up into a smile. “We’re not rulers here.” He reached up and touched his fingertips to Alexander’s cheek. 

Alexander’s eyes searched his, scanning over his face. His lips parted slightly, nervously. “Tomorrow,” he began, unconsciously leaning into the touch, “it must be as before.” 

Napoleon nodded, a little sadly. Everything felt like it was upside-down; completely wrong and completely right all at the same time. “Yes.” He stroked Alexander’s hair, treasuring this last moment in the moonlight. They mustn't be gone too long… 

Strains of violin music drifted over on the evening breeze. 

Alexander stepped closer, and softly cupped Napoleon’s cheek. “We will have to forget.” His voice was pained. 

“Yes,” Napoleon murmured as Alexander leaned in. 

Gently, slowly, lingeringly, and ever so sweetly Alexander touched his lips with his own. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against Napoleon’s, sighing. Again he kissed him; fleetingly, sorrowfully -- then turned and walked away.


End file.
